


Ready, Get Set, Bake!

by Care



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Care/pseuds/Care
Summary: Yang's probably not the first person who's ever developed a crush on a fellow baker. Probably.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 32
Kudos: 330





	Ready, Get Set, Bake!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallandsundry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallandsundry/gifts).



> Written for Secret Santa 2019. Smalls, I hope you forgive the lateness and also how it's not 40k words like your wife's. I ATONE DEEPLY. I hope it's enough!
> 
> Also, I stole all the themes from the best season of GBBO aka the Nadiya season. Duh.

There's a moment before Yang's name is called for judging, a breath when her whole body tenses like it's readying itself for a fight. She feels the muscles coiling in her shoulders and arms, and her hands ball themselves into fists in her lap, twisting the soft fabric of her apron. Her vision seems to tunnel, and she's staring straight ahead, the sound of her blood rushing through her ears. It happens every single time, even when she tells herself to stop. It's involuntary.

"Yang, would you like to bring up your Showstopper?" Port says, gesturing to the empty table in front of Salem and Ozpin.

Yang sighs. Lets go. Her muscles relax.

And she nods.

Yang can't entirely blame Ruby. It's _kind of_ her fault too. The Great British Bake Off's been Ruby's favorite show for the last six seasons, kicking off a half-decade obsession with baking that's only grown more and more ridiculous. They've both always _liked_ baking. Yang's been making cakes since she was old enough to see over the kitchen counters, Ruby on one side stealing batter from the mixing bowl, and Summer Rose trying to keep her from getting salmonella poisoning. Yang only realized it was getting out of control when she came home one night to find the kitchen in utter shambles and Ruby distraught over a lopsided croquembouche.

So when the show puts out their annual casting call during the finale credits, Yang leans over and nudges Ruby in the ribs. "You should enter," she says. "Then you'd at least have an excuse for turning the kitchen into a disaster zone."

Ruby blanches. "No way! I'm nowhere good enough."

"I think Uncle Qrow and all the cake he's put away in the last few years would beg to differ. Anyway, they're looking for amateur bakers on purpose."

"I'll enter if you will," Ruby says with a sly smile.

Which Yang isn't expecting _at all_. She's good too, but not nearly as good as Ruby. The two of them _did_ jointly win a local baking competition last summer though, spending three solid days working on a four-tier cake that they decorated with buttercream flowers and spun sugar and little cut-out cookies of their dog Zwei. But that's not even base level for Bake-Off. Yang knows that. So she says yes — anything to get Ruby to audition. Yang doesn't have a shot in hell.

So she's pretty shocked when the producers tell her and Ruby they both got in. And, when the initial euphoria wears off, horrified. The show sends over contracts and lists and pages and pages of rules. Ruby and Yang pore over each Signature and Showstopper theme, marking down ideas in their respective little notebooks. They assign each other test Technicals, studying why and how and what doesn't proof (sometimes they can't figure out the reason at all). Ruby's especially tense about Salem, who seems almost comically forbidding onscreen. Yang's not sure what she's actually like. Maybe she's one of those celebrities who's actually really nice in person.

Yang wouldn't bet on it though.

And when the first weekend finally comes around, they're both fidgety and nervous. Yang knows the producers want to milk the sister thing for all its worth. As far as she's aware, it's the first time two siblings have been on Bake-Off and the show's practically falling over itself to interview them.

"Tell us how _you_ feel about being on the show with your little sister, Yang!"

"Yang, who do you think is the better baker, you or Ruby?"

"Ruby and I have always baked together," she says into the camera lens, shooting it a grin. "It's awesome to be doing this with my little sister."

They both make it through Week One (Cakes), Yang _scraping_ by after an abysmal Technical and a mediocre Showstopper, Ruby barely losing out on Star Baker to the ever-modest Pyrrha. (They'll discover later that Pyrrha's just like that — insanely brilliant and genuinely kind; Yang can't even dislike her.) And Yang only has herself to blame for her rubbery sponges and unfinished decoration. She could never get the timings right. She gets on the train back home with shaky knees, all the adrenaline drained out of her, bone-tired and thinking that maybe she _does_ want to win and maybe that makes her as crazy as Ruby.

She'd be just as happy with Ruby winning though.

But just as Yang's feeling confident, sometime during the Signature in Week Two (Biscuits), she discovers she has another problem. A problem named Blake Belladonna.

(Yang is part of the first sister pair on the show, but she's pretty sure she's not the only one who's ever gotten the hots for another contestant. She saw how Mahogany and Rain looked at each other last season — she has eyes, just like every other fucking person who watched the show.)

The issue is that Blake's bench is next to Yang's, all the way in the back of the tent. Sometimes it feels like it's just the two of them there, working side-by-side, Yang making dumb jokes underneath her breath and Blake's soft laugher. Blake's pretty quiet, with big hazel eyes and a cat-like smile that makes Yang's fingers tingle every time Blake directs it at her. And it's not like Yang is _incapacitated_ because of her stupid crush — she's not fifteen and smitten for the first time. But there's something about her that catches Yang off-guard at the worst times — when she has caramel bubbling on the stove and she notices the curls escaping Blake's ponytail, when she's concentrating on thickening custard and she loses herself in the curve of Blake's neck as she leans over a pan.

"Are you okay?" Blake asks as they're preparing their soda breads during the Week Three (Bread) Signature.

Yang blinks, shaking herself out of a weirdly erotic fantasy about Blake's jawline. "Um. Yup! Super good. Why do you ask?"

"You were just staring into space," Blake says, not unkindly, as she rips off chunks of cheese, throwing it into her batter.

"Just thinking about the bread," Yang says, hoping to convince herself. She feels her ears burning as she turns back to her dough.

(Salem prods a thin finger into the center of Yang's soda bread. "Structure seems a little tight," she says in that weird, frighteningly cold way of hers. "But the taste is all right."

"The taste is very nice indeed," Oz says, and Oobleck hums in agreement, going back for a second bite.

Coming from Salem, it's practically a hug. Across the aisle, Blake gives Yang a small smile of congratulations, and Yang breathes out a sigh of relief.)

Normally, Yang wouldn't consider a two-week infatuation anything. She's not insane. But there's something about Bake-Off that seems to compound all the fluttering in the pit of her stomach. The intensity of the weekends, the time they're forced to spend together. The drunken nights in the hotel bar. Part of Yang's brain recognizes that she's known about Blake's existence for what amounts to a hot second, but the other part of her feels like she's known Blake for _ages_.

The night before the Showstopper in Week Four (Desserts), Yang finds herself talking to Blake at the hotel bar. Everyone else has gone to sleep — and normally Blake excuses herself on the earlier side or she's sitting there with a book — but tonight, even though it's fast approaching midnight, she's still sipping her drink and listening to Yang. One minute Yang's telling a story to the five or six bakers gathered around her, and the next, she's alone with Blake. Even Ruby's gone, smothering a yawn behind her hand as she went.

"You know," Blake says thoughtfully, swirling the remains of her wine around in the glass. "I don't think I even like cheesecake that much."

Yang laughs. "Isn't it Oz's favorite or something?"

" _Everything_ is Oz's favorite. Since Salem seems to hate it all."

They both take sips their respective drinks, letting silence settle between them. Yang feels pleasantly warm from her beer, just fuzzy enough that tomorrow and her cheesecake Showstopper seem not too intimidating.

"Ruby's mum loved cheesecake," Yang says. 

The words slip out of her, and she's surprised to find herself saying them. She doesn't like to talk much about Summer Rose. She still feels a peculiar ache in her chest when she thinks about her stepmother, and a weird lump of guilt in her throat. She wasn't even Yang's mother, just Ruby's, but sometimes Yang thinks she misses Summer Rose more than her own biological mom. Yang stares down into her beer, pretending she doesn't notice Blake glance over.

"Oh, you and Ruby aren't — "

Yang clears her throat. "We're sisters," she says firmly.

"I know," Blake says, reaching a hand across the table. Yang tries not to react at Blake's touch, but the shock of it races all the way up her arm. Blake's fingers are soft and cool, and Yang has to tell herself not to look down.

"Ruby's mum raised me. My biological mother left when I was really small. I didn't know her at all."

Blake squeezes Yang's hand.

"She, um, she died of cancer."

Another squeeze.

Yang pushes herself away, shaking off Blake's touch. She laughs a little, finding her voice unsettlingly shaky. "It was a long time ago. I only know the cheesecake thing because she left this book of her favorite recipes. Ruby and I cooked our way through it. It's a good recipe. I think we're both using it for our base, but I'm using berries and Ruby's going for a more tropical theme."

Blake doesn't say anything for another few seconds, leaning back in her chair. "I wish my mum loved cheesecake too. I'd have something better to go off on then just some stuff with chocolate. Just wait until they make us cook samosas — I'll have something then. My mother's samosas are _amazing_."

"You should make them anyway," Yang grins. "Just saying."

"Maybe I will," Blake replies, looking at Yang through her eyelashes.

Yang's pretty surprised to find herself at Week Five (Pastry). Seriously. So many other bakers have said that in the past, but it's not like baking's a grand passion or anything. She likes it, sure, but she likes her kickboxing class _way_ more, and she's not entering competitions for that or anything. Sometimes Yang has to remind herself that this is going to air on national television (and more besides), and this isn't just some local village church fair that Ruby's entered her in for fun and bragging rights. (The last time Yang brought a cake to a village fair, she lost out to an old man with liver spots on his hands who made the best damn chocolate cake she ever had.)

But even though Yang's made her way through four weeks of baking, she feels like she's losing steam. Cakes she's got down pat. Biscuits too. She can even bake a fairly mean loaf of bread. Desserts were a little tricky, but when it came down to it, Summer Rose's cheesecake recipe came through. But pastry? Pastry's a _nightmare_. It's finicky and fidgety and everything Yang hates in a bake. Her frangipane tart comes out overbaked, the filling inside crumbly and dry. Salem gives her a disdainful look before sweeping off to Blake's bench. And while she doesn't come in dead last for the Technical — that's all Sun — she's definitely at the bottom.

It's not a good look, going into the Showstopper. Yang thinks of their friends who've left — Jaune, Nora, Neptune, Velvet — and tries not to feel too hopeless about the situation.

"You can turn it around," Ruby says, looping her arm through Yang's as they head to dinner. "I know you can do it. You've been practicing those vol-au-vents all week."

Yang shrugs, trying for unconcerned. "Yeah. It's okay, Rubes. If I go home, I go home. But you're in the running for Star Baker — _again_."

Ruby blushes. "Oh, well. Pyrrha's probably going to nail it. She always does."

"You beat her last week!"

"Only because they liked the flavor of my cheesecake more."

Yang tsks. "A win's a win."

The hotel restaurant is only okay — a fairly mediocre and overpriced affair that most of them tend to skip over in favor of the pub around the corner. The show gives them money for dinner, and it goes a lot further in terms of pints, even if they have to leave the hotel for it. It's been raining on and off all day, and Yang's just glad that she wasn't attempting any sugarwork. It's coming down now in sheets. Yang would almost rather eat a dry burger in the restaurant and lick her wounds over her shitty frangipane tart from this morning, but Ruby wants to go out with the other bakers. They duck out into the rain with umbrellas. It's much too cold for summer.

The pub is steamy and warm, the floorboards sticky beneath Yang's shoes. She and Ruby order fish and chips and beers, and pile into a booth near the rest of the gang — Ren and Nora share a chicken pie, while Weiss picks listlessly at her chips. Sun and Pyrrha are up at the bar, talking seriously about something, and Penny throws a happy arm around Ruby as they sit down. Blake's nowhere to be seen, and Yang feels a pang of disappointment as Ruby and Penny start laughing over some private joke or another.

"Long day, huh?" Weiss says, pushing her chips across the battered tabletop towards Yang.

Yang takes one. It's been carefully soaked in vinegar, just the way she likes it. "Yeah. You could say that." It took her a while to warm up to Weiss in the beginning (she wasn't exactly kind to Ruby) but her standoffish frigid front has thawed somewhat. And Weiss is sort of hot when she isn't being a bitch — and sometimes when she is.

Fine, she's _definitely_ hotter when she's mean. But she's pretty lucky that the show isn't the type to paint her as a villain.

"Who even likes frangipane?" Weiss says.

Yang sighs. A flicker of movement by the door catches her eye, and she turns to see Blake enter, shucking off a wet jacket. She nearly elbows another patron in the face and has to whip around to apologize. Yang grins into her beer.

"Ohmigod, Yang, it's _Blaaaaake,_ " Ruby stage-whispers breathily into Yang's ear, as if Yang doesn't have eyes of her own.

"Shut up!" Yang hisses.

Weiss arches an eyebrow — like some kind of real-life Disney villain — and half-turns around to see for herself. "Ah," she says. "Are you still into her? I thought maybe it was a phase."

"What?! You know?!" Yang grabs Ruby's arm. "Did you tell?"

Ruby wrests her arm away. "I would never — "

"It's not like you're subtle," Weiss scoffs.

"We all know!" Penny chirps. "Except Blake. I'm not sure Blake knows. Wait, does that mean we should tell her? Is it unfair that we all know except for her?"

" _No_ — " Yang gets out before Blake's standing at the edge of their table, her hair slightly frizzy and damp from rain, her cheeks pinking in the warm room.

Yang's mouth is suddenly dry. She dumbly slides over. Weiss rolls her eyes as Blake takes a seat.

"Oh, chips. I'm _starving_ ," Blake says, helping herself to some of Weiss's.

"We have more coming. Me and Ruby," Yang says, feeling stupid as soon as the words leave her mouth. "If you want."

The corner of Blake's lips quirks upwards. "Thanks, but I should go order. Anybody want anything? A refill?" She nods to Penny, who pushes her empty glass towards Blake.

Penny leans forward as soon as Blake's gone. "I think you would make a very good couple, Yang," she says seriously.

"Um," Yang says. "I don't really know if — I don't think she likes me like that — " She takes a deep breath. "Thanks, Penny. That's...nice of you."

She makes a valiant effort to change the subject, asking Weiss about her vol-au-vents plan and nods along as her food arrives. She's only half listening though, watching Blake at the bar, the way she moves, her actions small and closed. So unlike Yang herself, who prefers big and bold. She wonders what Blake would be like if they were alone together. How her actions would magnify under the lens of scrutiny. She wonders if small and closed can feel big and bold too.

"Annnnd she's stopped listening to me," she hears Weiss say, sounding annoyed.

"Sorry! I just spaced for a moment."

Weiss purses her lips. "Uh-huh."

"She's distracted by Blaaaaaaaake," Ruby sings teasingly.

Yang's _definitely_ going to have a talk with her sister later about discretion. For now though, her only course of action is to gently smack Ruby on the shoulder as she sinks a bit into her seat, feeling unusually itchy with embarrassment. Yang's not easily embarrassed — she can weather the worst. It's kind of why she let herself do the show in the first place. But this, this is testing her.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. Ruby manages to rein herself in, though she can't help but flash Yang a few Meaningful Looks through dinner. By the time they're finishing their second pints, Pyrrha announces she's heading to bed, peeling off back to the hotel with most of the others. Penny and Ruby mean to stay for another half hour, but pretty soon Ruby's nodding off at the table. Yang helps Penny shake Ruby from her stupor. She intends to take Ruby back to the hotel, but Penny — who's surprisingly strong — hoists Ruby upright and cheerily tells Yang to stay.

"Are you sure?" Yang says.

She looks back at the table, at Blake, and feels a warm flush spreading across her neck and upwards towards her ears.

"Yeah, Ruby's so tiny. She basically weighs nothing — "

"I'm _fiiiiiiine_ — "

" — I'll get her back to her room and you can have another drink. Spend some time with Blake!" Penny beams. "Isn't that what you want?"

Which is true. It _is_ what Yang wants. Whether it's a good idea is another question entirely.

"Okay," she says. She leans in to brush a kiss against Ruby's forehead. "Sleep well, Rubes."

Ruby waves, yawning hugely. "G'night, sis."

The pub feels strangely empty after they're gone. Yang clocks the remaining patrons, scattered in booths and at the bar. She thinks about the last time she and Blake were together and takes a deep breath. Walks back to the table.

"Another one?" she asks Blake.

It happens the way these things generally happen.

One minute Yang and Blake are laughing over Yang's Salem impression, and the next they're stumbling out of the pub, a little bit drunk. Blake trips on the pavement, falling into Yang's side. She's giggling and warm, her cheeks flushed. It's barely raining anymore, just a sprinkle really, and Blake's hair is haloed in the glow of the streetlight. Misty and unreal and so beautiful. And Yang forgets herself enough to catch Blake by the lapel of her jacket, the slick fabric sliding beneath her fingers. Blake takes a step towards her, mouth open and parted like an invitation.

Yang kisses her.

Or she tries to. But she misses on the first attempt, finding Blake's upper lip and a bit of her nose. Blake laughs, a muffled sound that Yang feels as a hum.

"I'm over here, Yang," Blake says softly, her cool fingers suddenly on Yang's jaw and chin, tilting Yang's head and then — 

Blake's mouth. Blake's taste, summer rain and bitter beer and a little bit of salt. Yang shudders, hot and cold simultaneously, every nerve ending lit up and electrified. Blake kisses with the same intensity she has for her bakes, with laser focus. She presses up into Yang. She gulps Yang down, in open-mouthed swallows that leave Yang feeling cracked open.

"C'mon," Yang murmurs, pulling away and tugging Blake with her.

They half-run, half-walk back to the hotel, unsteady and ungainly, tracking wet footprints through the lobby and into the lift. Blake kisses Yang again when the doors close, the two of them clutching at each other. Yang slips a hand beneath Blake's shirt. Her fingers trail against bare skin.

"My room?" Blake asks.

Yang can only manage a nod.

She's surprised to find Blake's room a little bit messy. Blake keeps her bench fastidiously clean in the tent. Yang doesn't expect the clothes strewn over the chair in the corner, the suitcase haphazardly open on the floor. But she doesn't think about it long — Blake shuts the door behind them — and Yang falls back onto the bed, taking Blake with her. She lies back against the mountain of pillows, Blake leaning over her. Her hair, the dark wavy hair that Yang stares at so often, falls in front of her face, curtaining her expression. Yang brushes it back, tucks it behind Blake's ear.

"Do you think," Blake whispers. "That we're the first contestants to do this?"

Yang laughs. "I really, really doubt it."

Blake's grin is bright against her dark skin, a little playful, a little teasing. She pushes Yang down, and the ends of her hair tickle Yang's face. Yang hooks a leg around Blake's waist, and turns them so they're both lying on their sides. She kisses Blake slowly, exploring, sucking on Blake's bottom lip. Blake gasps, swallowed up by Yang's greedy mouth, her fingers tightening on Yang's hip. Her eyes flutter closed. She presses her face against the curve of Yang's neck, mouthing at the skin, and Yang lets out a groan.

When she pulls away, Yang sees the want in Blake's expression, dark and needy and almost desperate. An answering pull of desire swells in her.

"Off," she croaks out, tugging at Blake's clothes. " _Off_."

Blake rolls over onto Yang in responses, her knees bracketing Yang's hips. She slides her t-shirt up and over her head, revealing a plain black cotton bra. Yang touches the slight curve of Blake's stomach, the swell and expanse of her ribcage, cupping the sides of Blake's small breasts. Blake undoes the snap of her jeans. For a second they're frozen in place, looking at each other, Blake half-undressed on top of Yang — and then Yang's startled into action. She slides Blake's jeans off, tossing them onto a heap on the floor. When she looks back, Blake's stretched out on the duvet, beautiful and waiting.

"Fuck," Yang mumbles.

"Come here and do that," Blake says. "But take off your clothes first."

Yang strips fast, not caring that she's wearing a sports bra she hasn't changed in a day or two. She's dizzy and half-breathless, her heart pounding in her chest. Blake stares at her as Yang flings her shirt off, then her jeans. She doesn't move.

"What?" Yang asks.

Blake shakes her head. "I don't think I've ever actually seen a real six pack. I — okay. That's what you were hiding underneath the apron. _Damn_."

"Oh yeah?" Yang grins. "You wanna flatter me some more?"

Blake rolls her eyes with a half-embarrassed smile. Yang crawls up to her, collapsing when she's close enough to kiss Blake again. For a long minute that's all they do, exchanging long kisses that leave Yang desperate and shaking. Blake's hands explore Yang, stroking and rubbing. Yang touches Blake's hips and thighs, then, sliding her hand slowly down, between Blake's legs. Yang feels the heat against her skin, the wet fabric clinging and bunching. She gives a gentle stroke, and encouraged by Blake's answering moan, a firmer one. She hooks a finger into the waistband of Blake's underwear, pulling it down until Blake can kick it off.

"Can I…" she starts, feeling suddenly shy. Which is stupid. She doesn't _get_ this shy.

Blake nods. "Yeah. Just — I want to — can I take off your bra?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course. Um." 

Yang scoots upwards and Blake reaches around to undo the clasp in one swift movement. It's...hot. But not as hot as the look on Blake's face, her expression falling slack as she throws Yang's bra off the bed. Her eyes flick up to meet Yang's for the briefest second before she's gathering Yang close, peppering kisses along Yang's collarbone and shoulders. Her lips wander down Yang's sternum, pausing at her breasts, Yang's nipples hard in the cold air. Blake covers one with her mouth. Her breath comes wet and warm and the sensation makes Yang squirm. She pushes at Blake suddenly, _needing_ and impatient. Blake swirls her tongue around the nipple, and Yang tilts her head back against the pillow, arching her back.

When Blake finally does touch her — fingers sliding through the slick wetness, thumb against her clit — Yang closes her eyes. The room's spinning around her, like she's the center point, and everything is moving. Spiraling around and around and around, dissolving into spots of light. Blake eats her out so slowly, spreading Yang's legs until her thighs ache, her tongue painting careful circles against Yang's skin. It's almost too much, feels too good. Yang's suddenly aware of her own panting, obscenely loud against the backdrop of squeaking bedsprings.

"I — " she whimpers, unsure of how to continue. The words get stuck in her throat, swallowed and forgotten with the next swipe of Blake's tongue.

Blake murmurs something in return, but it hums against Yang's body, all vibration, no substance. She slides two fingers into Yang. The feeling burns, sweet and hot, and she drags them back out, so wet that Yang can hear. Yang clenches around them and Blake moans, like it's her that's being fucked instead of Yang — like she can feel it too — and Yang's bearing down again, hands scrabbling against the sheets, eyes shut so tight — 

" _Please_ ," Yang gasps, " _pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_ — "

It feels like it's taking forever, pleasuring winding and tightening and building up and up and up, Blake fucking her deep and steady. When Yang finally comes, it's almost a surprise. She rides out her orgasm in sobbing whimpers, throbbing and pulsing, Blake fucking her hard all through it, until Yang's oversensitive and wrung out and she has to push Blake away.

"Jesus fuck," she says, catching her breath. She rolls onto her side, feeling a little dazed.

Blake wipes her mouth with the back of her arm, but Yang can still see streaks of her come glistening on the point of Blake's chin. She shivers. Blake drops a kiss onto Yang's cheek.

"How was that?" Blake asks, curling into Yang. She sounds languid and warm.

"Do you have to ask?"

Yang pulls her in for a lingering kiss, cutting off Blake's laugh. It dissolves into breathlessness. Blake makes little impatient noises in her throat as Yang kisses her again and again, the edges of the room blurring around them. Yang traces her tongue along the line of Blake's jaw, her throat, the underside of her breasts. Yang sucks one of her dusky nipples into her mouth, laving the tip until it tightens and Blake's shuddering beneath her touch.

"What do you want?" Yang asks, glancing up.

Blake's eyes are glazed, her mouth open. "I don't — " It takes her a second. She licks her lips. "Can I sit on your face?"

" _Fuck_ ," Yang says, almost involuntary. "Yes. _Yes._ "

She scrambles to let Blake swing a leg over her, squirming her way down the mattress to position herself underneath. It's stupidly hot to be able to look up and see Blake arching over her, her eyes hooded in the dim light. Yang runs a hand along Blake's thigh, feeling the slight tremble. She kisses the inside, so close to Blake's soaked cunt — she can smell Blake, a dark and musky — and feel how wet she is against her cheek. Blake grabs a handful of Yang's hair, her grip spasming with each press of Yang's lips.

"If you don't put your fucking mouth on me, I swear — " she says, and the words disappear into a gasp as Yang finds Blake's clit with the flat of her tongue.

She's sticky with come — it's on Yang's cheeks and chin, her scent clinging to Yang's skin. Yang buries her face in Blake, tasting salt and tang. Yang sucks Blake's clit into her mouth, stroking with her tongue, and Blake shakes above her. Her voice has gone all high and thready, her panting a jumble of "yes" and "please" — and Yang finds herself moaning with her. She clutches Blake's hips, holding her down, tight, maybe too tight, but Blake just cries louder, even though Yang's sure she's leaving bruises. She pulls her face away, just for a second, catching her breath.

" _Yang_ ," Blake sobs out, voice cracking.

Yang slides her tongue into Blake, and Blake's surprised _oh_ is so hot as she trips into orgasm, the walls of her cunt pulsing around Yang.

The room is silent except for their ragged breathing. Blake manages to get off Yang, collapsing next to her. She pushes her face into the pillow and sighs. Yang's suddenly exhausted, spent and loose-limbed, too tired to even try to move. She throws an arm around Blake's waist, tugging and pulling at the duvet to cover them both.

"I meant to spend tonight thinking about my vol-au-vents," Blake says muzzily, turning to press a kiss to Yang's arm.

"I've been thinking about _your_ vol-au-vents enough for the both of us," Yang mumbles.

"Wh — "

"Your boobs. I was making a joke about your boobs. Sorry, I'm pretty tired."

Blake chuckles. It's the last thing Yang remembers before she falls asleep.

She wakes up all at once the next morning. A sudden, unexpected thing. She lies there for a second, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, stitching last night back together in her mind. She knows Blake's gone even before she turns over to find the sheets on that side of the bed cool. Still, the discovery leaves a bad taste in her mouth — though it could also be the edges of a hangover. She doesn't know what time it is, but they're always called early. Usually she's out of bed and ready, buoyed by jangling nerves. Today though — Yang closes her eyes — she feels tired in her bones.

Everyone else is finishing their breakfasts by the time Yang gets downstairs. She clocks Blake by the window, both hands wrapped around a mug of something, talking to Sun. It feels like there's something twisting in her stomach, and it knots itself tight when she sees Blake. Yang puts some cold eggs on her plate, toasts a piece of bread. She busies herself with her coffee, carefully adding just the right amount of creamer — no sugar — and carries everything to an empty seat.

"Hey!" Ruby says, appearing at her elbow. "Where were you this morning? I came by your room for breakfast and I knocked for _forever_. I was calling your name and everything."

"I…" Yang eyes Blake, who seems intent on ignoring her. "I went for a run. I needed to think."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry I didn't let you know. Next time I'll slip a note beneath your door."

"It's all right." Ruby shrugs and leans in, grinning. "Weiss said you were probably with Blake! But then Blake showed up super early — not before me or Penny, obviously — but like _really_ early, and I was like, no way, because they'd show up together."

Oh, good. Suddenly the dining room feels too cloistered and small, everyone's eyes on her like little pinpricks against her skin. Yang's too restless, jittery, and she needs to fucking calm down before she has to bake to save her place — she needs to think about _baking_ , something she hasn't thought about in hours— and she probably shouldn't drink this coffee.

Yang swallows a bite of dry toast and stands up. "I'll meet you in the hall, Rubes. I forgot something in my room."

"But you just — "

She doesn't wait for Ruby to finish speaking. Just clears her plate and leaves, wishing she _did_ run. There's something about moving that always soothes her nerves, settles her clamoring brain. Yang gets in the lift and thinks about doing press-ups in her room. She could do a few reps before she has to be downstairs again.

"Wait!"

Blake wedges herself through the closing lift doors. Yang takes a step back.

"Hi," Blake says.

"Hi," Yang echoes.

The lift starts to move, gliding upwards. Up close, Blake looks tired around the eyes. Yang wonders how long she slept.

"Must've been some emergency this morning," Yang bites out. It's harsher than she means for it to be, but once it's out there, it hangs between them and she can't take it back, no matter how much she wants to.

Blake wraps an arm around herself. Her lips thin into a line. "I didn't want to make it weird with us."

"There are alternatives to _weird_. It didn't mean you had to get out of bed at the crack of dawn and pretend last night never happened."

"Yang — "

"Was it that bad?"

Blake leans over and presses the emergency stop button on the panel. The lift grinds to a halt, throwing Yang enough that she has to catch herself against the wall. She can't — did Blake just —

"What — "

"It wasn't bad. It was really good, actually. Maybe the best," Blake's saying, really fast, looking at a point behind Yang's ear. "It wasn't you at all, okay? It was me. I was the one who got weird. I didn't want you to regret it when you woke up, and I just thought — well, I thought wrong and I'm sorry. We can go back down now. You don't have to talk to me. It's fine. I'm fine with it. I really am. I'm not the type of person to mope or — whatever. Let's just be normal for the cameras."

It takes Yang a second to process this speech, which is possibly the longest thing Blake's ever said. Blake reaches forward again for the stop button, but Yang grabs her wrist.

"Why did you think I'd regret it?" she says.

"I like you a lot," Blake says simply. "I've liked you from the first night. When you and Ruby made all of us drive forty minutes for karaoke. I thought you two were loud and a bit stupid, and then — I don't know. I think you were singing that horrible Ed Sheeran song, and I liked you."

Yang doesn't know what to say. She takes a long breath, lets it out. "I think we're supposed to feel proud of Ed Sheeran now or something. National treasure. You know."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Blake," Yang murmurs, dropping her voice low. "I like you too. I like you a lot. So much that I burned my caramel."

"Oh," Blake says, blinking. " _Oh_. I thought…"

Yang continues, "I'd really like to take you out to dinner sometime, when we're done filming and in London, if that's all right. I was going to ask you that."

"I suppose you could still ask me that."

"I suppose I could."

"I suppose you should."

"Maybe," Yang says.

She leans in close, watching Blake pink from her neck up to her ears. Yang's no longer sure why she thought today was going to totally suck. It's really turning around, honestly. It seems like it's going to be a great day. What the hell was she thinking earlier? Blake's lips part, like she's expecting to be kissed, and Yang almost gives in — almost sinks into her again, memories of last night coming up in dribs and drabs. But instead, Yang just presses the emergency stop again, the lift humming back into motion. Blake frowns.

"I thought you were going to ask me out."

"I am," Yang says, putting her hands in her pockets, finding herself unable to stop grinning. "But I don't know. I think I might wait, since it turns out that you like me. Doesn't seem like you're going anywhere."

"Oh my god — "

The lift opens on Yang's floor and she steps out. Seriously — this day is brilliant and it's not even 7 AM.

"See you at the tent!" she says and waves.

Unsurprisingly, Yang's vol-au-vents are a complete _disaster_.

She has to redo her pastry when the first one doesn't seem quite right, which throws out all her carefully calculated timings. But that doesn't matter in the end, because her pastry doesn't puff. She's just left piping filling into brittle shells that seem to dissolve at her touch. Not to mention that she doesn't even finish fully, leaving half her decorations melting in the tent's sticky heat. But Yang can't even really be upset — she knows her mind's not on the task at hand.

"Well," Oz says, trying to be kind. "You had some good ideas. Shame it didn't work out."

Salem snorts.

Blake shoots her a sympathetic look as Yang walks back to her bench with her pallid Showstopper. But — as Pyrrha goes up with her perfect-looking vol-au-vents — Yang finds that she's surprisingly okay. She's probably going home. And it's fine.

She glances over at Blake. Blake gives her a tiny smile.

It's really fine.

_**FIVE WEEKS LATER** _

"Who I do think is going to win?" Yang looks into the camera and pretends to consider. "Well, if I said anyone other than Ruby, I'd never hear the end of it. But, you know, I do think it'll be Ruby. She's smart, creative, and totally driven. She's gonna win."

"My money's on Pyrrha," Blake says from next to her.

"What? Aren't you supposed to be supporting me or whatever?"

Blake shrugs. "I'm dating _you_ , not Ruby."

"Well," Yang says. "I guess that's true."

They spread a picnic blanket between a few of Jaune's siblings and Yang's Uncle Qrow (who's maybe just...wearing a cloak? In the middle of July?). The whole of the lawn outside the tent is buzzing, kids getting facepaints, people taking advantage of the free popcorn and candy floss. Yang drapes an arm around Blake's shoulders. She'd made good on her promise. Well, basically. Maybe they were tied. When Blake went out in the quarter-finals, she'd called Yang from the train on her way home. But before Yang could fully ask Blake to dinner, Blake had already beaten her to the punch. They went to dinner that night. And the night after that.

It's still new, of course. They're still tip-toeing around labels, and Yang especially doesn't want to rush Blake into anything she's not ready for. But she thinks she's ready. For herself. Not that she's in any hurry. Right now she's content just holding Blake's hand. Interlaces their fingers and holds on tight. It's a beautiful day. They're back at that beautiful billowing tent. And somewhere in there, Yang hopes, her sister is kicking some serious ass.

When two producers come rushing out to warn them that the finalists are coming, Blake nudges Yang up to stand by her dad. They cheer and scream and generally make stupid fools of themselves when Ruby emerges, teetering beneath the weight of her cake. Uncle Qrow sighs a long-suffering sigh and goes to help Ruby set the cake down on a picnic table. There's frosting all over Ruby's apron, ganache on her cheeks and a little in her hair.

"I'm so _proud_ of you!" Yang cries, grabbing Ruby in a tight hug. It's welling up in her — everything — being back here with Blake and her sister being a finalist and — 

"How do you think it went?" their dad cuts in breathlessly.

Ruby fidgets with her apron strings. "I think it was okay. I'm not sure. They said they liked it. I mean, I know they liked it. And I had an okay day yesterday, but all of us did. I just don't know if I did well enough to win."

"I'm sure you did brilliantly." Yang gives Ruby another hug and, looking up, she finds Blake beaming at her through the crowd. Something feels like it flips in the pit of her stomach.

"Enough talking. Let's eat." Qrow squeezes Ruby's shoulder. "Cut the cake already."

Ruby's cake is fudge-y and moist and perfect, pure chocolate bliss. They all enthuse over it until Ruby's bright red in the face, trying to tell them that, really, they're making too big of a deal. Yang hums with happiness as she eats her generous slice. She's wondering if it'd be uncouth have more when the producers come out again to hush everyone.

"All right there, finalists. Come gather around, gather round, please!" Oobleck calls, clutching an enormous bouquet of flowers, flanked by Port, Salem, and Ozpin.

Ruby gives Yang a panicked look.

"Go," Yang mouths, pushing Ruby away. "You've got this."

Ruby walks slowly towards the empty stretch of lawn, holding out her hands for Pyrrha and Penny when the other two get close enough. Until it's just the three of them, clutching at each other, standing in front of the judges. Salem has the famous Bake-Off cake stand, her face as impassive as always. Yang takes a breath, holds it.

Port clears his throat. "I hope all of three of you know know just how far you've come. Over the last ten weeks, we've watched you transform with bake after extraordinary bake. But, as you know, there can only be one winner."

"And so," Oobleck continues. "It's my _greatest_ pleasure to announce that the winner of this year's Great British Bake off is — "

(Later that night, when Blake and Yang are both drifting off, exhausted from the day and stomachs hurting from cake, Yang says, "You better be here when I wake up tomorrow, Belladonna."

"Oh, shut up," Blake says, and she turns to kiss her.)


End file.
